Page 112 of Murder on Cold Street
Very carefully he turned his head. So the warmth next to him was also no illusion—Alice truly was in his arms. And he really was in his own bed, a free man once again.
Because of Charlotte Holmes. Bless that woman and every excessive flounce on her skirts.
It felt as if he was dreaming again, to recall his release from Scotland Yard. That lovely, lovely carriage ride home. The renewed grieving for Alice’s father and brother, especially her father. The long, long talk they’d had, admitting to everything they’d been too afraid, too ashamed, and too unnerved to tell each other in all the weeks, months, and years before.
He’d felt clean and unburdened afterward, but also scoured raw, almost too shy to meet her eyes. He suspected that she felt the same, which was probably the reason she’d turned the topic to Sherlock Holmes.
“Do you suppose, Robert—I mean have you ever wondered whether there is any evidence, any real evidence, that there is an unwell man inside that bedroom at 18 Upper Baker Street?”
He’d chortled and poured them each a glass of whisky. “Let me tell you what I know, my dearest Alice.”
Beside him Alice stirred. She opened her eyes and many of the same emotions he’d experienced just now charged across her face.From an initial, automatic dismay, to the rush of relief at the realization that his arrest was now behind them and that they were together again.
She turned to him. “Robert, Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, Alice.”
She cupped his face. “Today is the first day of the rest of our lives.”
She had said this the morning after their wedding. He took her hand, kissed it, and gave the same answer as he had at that time, “Every day is the first day of the rest of our lives.”
But this time, he would not forget it.
This time, he would do better.
Christmas morning brought with it the lovely surprise of Livia at Charlotte’s door.
According to Livia, their mother, having taken a few extra drops of laudanum, was still abed. So she had taken advantage of that and left their lodging house as soon as the place unlocked its doors.
Her arrival was greeted with riotous approval by Mrs. Watson and Miss Redmayne. The four women chatted with vigor and plowed through a large breakfast. Or rather, three of the women chatted with vigor and Charlotte plowed through a large breakfast.
The doorbell rang again. This time, it was Lord Ingram, his children in tow, Miss Lucinda happily informing Mr. Mears that they came to drop off presents on their way to the railway station.
Mrs. Watson’s respectability might be questionable, but Miss Redmayne was officially a half sibling to Lord Ingram. Some would still frown upon his visit, but most would laud him as tenderhearted: A rich and striking man enjoyed a great deal of latitude in how he conducted himself.
But even he would come under fire if it became known that he’d exposed his children, especially his daughter, to a fallen woman such as Charlotte Holmes. The children knew her by sight and weretoo young to be trusted to keep secrets, so Charlotte slipped out of the afternoon parlor before the children came up the stairs.
As did Livia, who also didn’t want it to be known that she was at Mrs. Watson’s.
They sat for a while with Bernadine, their elder sister who could not take care of herself and whom Charlotte now supported. Then they decamped to the formal morning parlor.
There Charlotte waited for Livia to tell her what she now knew.
Which Livia did, with a long sigh. “Moriarty has Mr. Marbleton, doesn’t he?”
It was always only a matter of time before Mr. Marbleton’s kindly meant deception failed—and Livia perceived the truth for herself. “I’m afraid so.”
Livia buried her hands in the fold of her skirts—it was cold in the morning parlor, where no fire had been laid. “What can we do to free him?”
“I’m not sure yet, but we’ll come up with something.”
Livia rocked back and forth in her chair. “Will it take years and years?”
Charlotte moved closer and took Livia’s hands in her own. “Possibly.”
Livia’s hands shook. But she said, after a while, with her hands still shaking, “I’m ready for it.”
Lord Ingram came and found them a few minutes later. They exchanged greetings. Livia presented him with monogramed handkerchiefs; he gave her a bottle of blue-black ink, the bottle engraved with her initials.
